


how to get over a crush on your co-worker (who just came out as bisexual)

by itsanizzyb



Category: Ghostbusters (2016), Ghostbusters - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, they go on a lesbian cruise i guess, welcome to tropeville don't walk on the grass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-01-05 03:32:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21206696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsanizzyb/pseuds/itsanizzyb
Summary: "I don't think Erin will ever speak to us again if this goes badly.""I don't think there's going tobean us for her to not speak to."Erin and Holtzsomehowend up sharing the honeymoon suite on a lesbians-only cruise.The drama! The angst! Thesexual tension!This is basically a weird mash-up of thethere's only one bedandfake marriagetropes.





	1. Congratulations

Erin nervously hands over her documents to the Olivia check-in lady and waits while she enters details into the computer.

"Congratulations. You must be so happy," she says brightly, handing Erin an information packet and her key-card. "You can board over there."

_Congratulations?_ "Thanks?" she says, following the gesture to the cruise ship's entrance. The deck is hung with decorations in pale sunset colours, and for a moment Erin wants to text Holtzmann a picture of the _decked out deck _to make her laugh. Then she shakes her head and instead asks the nearest staff member for directions to her room.

She wants to freshen up and find her favourite jumpsuit, one she hasn't travelled from New York in, to meet some of the other ladies on board.

"All the way on the top, to the right, room H13," she's told. "Congratulations!"

_Everyone's so goddamned perky. _

The location can't be right, though. She thought the top deck was the honeymoon suites. After Abby and Patty gave her the ticket, she spent _a lot_ of time reading up about cruises, which included many articles about cruise ship layouts (as well as the _Top 10 ways to get the most out of your cruise!_).

She double-checks her booking with one hand and it does _say _"room H13." _Okay, then._

She takes the elevator, not wanting to carry her small suitcase up tons of stairs, and counts off the doors until she finds H13. She hesitantly swipes her key-card and the door-handle flashes green to admit her.

She drops her suitcase on the ground, stopping short at the opulence that greets her. It's nice. _Really_ nice. The bed is huge, king-sized or maybe even bigger, and a little basket of chocolates sits alongside a bottle of champagne and two champagne flutes on the folded red blanket.

_Two _champagne flutes?

Erin's starting to have a really bad feeling about this. The sort of imminent _Abigail-Yates-what-did-you-do_ feeling that she last felt staring at her goo-covered face, immortalized on YouTube for screaming about ghosts.

She breathes deeply for a minute, counting off rhyming words on her fingers to calm herself, but her heart-rate only really slows when she hears the familiar sound of Holtzmann's off-key singing.

_Holtzmann's off-key singing_?

She has a moment of serious vertigo, and then the bathroom door swings open.

It actually is Holtzmann. Butt-naked, towel around her hair, singing the Backstreet Boys.

Erin's brain short-circuits. She lets out a half-strangled yell and slaps a hand over her eyes, automatically stepping backwards.

Her knees hit the suitcase, she pitches sideways onto the plush carpet, and she groans. Maybe the head trauma can explain why she just hallucinated _Holtzmann_. In her _room_. On a _lesbian cruise_.

"_Erin_?"

There's the thumping of footsteps near her head. It sounds pretty real. _Those tits looked pretty real_. Erin giggles semi-hysterically to herself, pinching the skin between her wrist and elbow.

"It's okay, I'm decent. Hey, stop that," Holtzmann says, grasping her hand gently.

Erin opens her eyes to see Holtzmann kneeling beside her, thankfully wrapped in a towel now. She's rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly.

"What the hell?" Erin rubs her head where she knocked it on the floor. "What are you doing here?"

Holtzmann looks like a walking question mark. "I… don't know," she says, sitting back on her heels, mouth slack. "I really don't know."

***

It's taken Erin at least two months to get to this point. And if she's being really honest with herself, six months. Six months since Holtzmann started unashamedly flirting with her. Two months since she realised she liked it. _Liked_ Holtzmann.

So it's time. Time to tell the team.

_Not_ that she _likes Holtzmann_. That's an issue her heart and her head will just have to disagree on. She's going to tell them that she likes _women_.

She calls a family meeting on Monday morning. They sit around the coffee table expectantly, picking at their breakfast muffins that she picked up as a way to soften the blow. Not that she's expecting it to be bad. Obviously, they all love Holtzmann, who is a raging lesbian. There's no homophobia here. But she's worried that they might feel betrayed.

"I have something to tell you guys."

Before she can even get another word in, the team starts flinging guesses at her.

"You're knocked up," Holtzmann grins, wrapping a curl around and around her finger and letting it spring back into her hairdo repeatedly.

"You're dating Phil again! Can't wait to see that cheese-and-cracker snack around here more often!" Patty guesses.

"You're leaving us to live in the wilderness of Peru and catch bugs for dinner with your bare hands," Abby says.

"I'm sorry, _what_?" Erin is distracted by that particular image.

"I saw a documentary," Abby shrugs.

"Um, okay," Erin says, trying to get back on track. "It's actually that-"

"Wait!" Holtzmann holds up a hand. "I've got it. You've made a working time machine and it's all gone horribly wrong and we're about to be treated to an Erin-through-the-ages fashion show."

Patty and Abby collapse in laughter. "You do _not_ want that, Holtzmann," Abby wheezes. "Erin at fifteen liked bowties more than Erin at forty, if you can believe it."

Holtzmann half-smiles at Erin, still twirling her fingers suggestively.

"Excuse me," Erin coughs, trying not to let thoughts of Holtzmann's skilled and dainty fingers distract her. She takes another deep breath. "I'm bisexual."

Silence for a heart-beat. Then…

"Congratulations, Erin!" Abby smiles.

Patty grins and pulls her into a bear hug. "I'm so proud of you!"

Only Holtzmann is silent. If Erin didn't know any better, she would have thought the younger woman was on the verge of tears. Her finger pulls her curl tighter and tighter around her finger as they all look at her expectantly. "That's awesome," she finally manages, not looking back at anyone.

Erin flushes, awkward at Holtzmann's non-reaction. Given her puppy-dog flirting, she would have thought Holtz would be the most pleased out of all of them.

Picking up the tension, Abby quickly stands up. "I'm so happy for you, Erin. Shall we go out for lunch to celebrate today?"

Patty nods enthusiastically and narrates her search for "Bisexual restaurants" on Google maps (which for some reason mainly returns laundromats).

It should be enough to distract her, but it's not. Erin is hyper-aware as Holtzmann slinks from the room, feinting in the direction of the bathroom and then scurrying away to her lab. After a few minutes, they hear a series of loud pops.

Stricken, Erin looks at Abby. "Is she… mad at me?"

"She's not good with her feelings, Er. Don't stress." Abby stands up, patting her shoulder. Patty puts her phone away.

"It's probably just a lot for her to process," Patty adds.

_It's not about her processing_, Erin wants to yell. _This is about me!_

"Yeah," she says instead. "I'll talk to her later."


	2. Topsy-Turvy

Erin pours them both a very full glass of champagne, and they sit on opposite sides of the bed, sipping, silent. _At least she hasn't run off_, Erin thinks sourly.

She doesn't really know what to say to Holtzmann. Her_ best friend_.

They've barely spoken in weeks.

She knows that she should really go downstairs and find the concierge and explain the situation and that _somehow_, she got placed in a honeymoon suite with her co-worker on whom she has a teensy-tiny crush.

She knows that she _should_ do that, because maybe there's been a mix-up and some _actually_ honeymooning couple is stranded in a bunk bed.

But the room is so nice, and she's so floaty on the champagne, and Holtz… _Holtz. _She just wants her best friend back. She wants to cuddle into Holtz's shoulder and watch a fucking movie. She wouldn't care if they never made out or hooked up or whatever the kids are calling it these days, if she just got her best friend back.

"Holtz?"

Holtzmann doesn't answer and Erin wants to scream. She wants to grab her shoulders and shake her until she _looks _at her. _What have I done?_ she wants to demand.

But Holtzmann never does well with yelling or crying or emotional conversations, so she just whispers again, "Holtzmann?"

There's a beat and then, she turns to her. Erin doesn't know what she expected. Maybe an apology. Something, anything, that shows that Holtzmann cares.

Instead, she gets the wink, the no eye contact, the flirty smile Holtzmann pulls out for all women. "This is a _really_ nice… big… room."

Erin swallows the anger, the tears, everything she wants to say, everything hanging between them. "It is," she agrees softly.

She takes some deep, calming breaths, visualising lying by the pool with a mimosa and a crime novel and… Holtzmann in a swimsuit, leaning over her… _Shut up, Erin, you're not a horny teenager_, she scolds herself, but at least the urge to yell has passed.

"I don't want to have to get to know a roommate…" Holtz trails off suggestively, swirling the last of her champagne in the glass and drinking it down.

Erin stays silent, not sure what she'll say if she does open her mouth.

"This bed is _so _big. And comfortable." Holtz starfishes out to demonstrate, knocking a hand against Erin's hip. Erin doesn't move, breathless. It's the first time they've touched since… well, since she came out. 

Holtzmann whips her hand away suddenly, leaving Erin's fuzzy head reeling.

"Holtz…" she says again, pleading.

"But it's fine," her friend says. "We can sort you another room."

Everything is too much, too big for her heart, too messy for her head. She's topsy-turvy, lost in the chasm between _we don't talk anymore_ and _maybe she still likes you_.

Erin looks down at Holtz's prone body, her eyes fixed upon the ceiling so as not to look Erin in the eye. _What the hell_, she thinks. _Things can't get any worse_. She lifts her champagne glass to her lips and drains it in a few big gulps.

"No," she says. "Let's do it." It's a challenge and a plea all at once. "I like this room."

Holtzmann tilts her head back and catches Erin's eye for the first time in weeks, a crinkle appearing between her eyebrows.

She nods, once, sharp. "Yessir."

***

Erin doesn't get the opportunity to talk to Holtzmann about her disastrous coming out before they're called to a big bust. As they fight their way through the haunted house, Holtzmann beside her but not really talking to her, more _at _her, a nasty pilgrim slices her arm right down to the bone.

"Well, that answers my question about corporeal ghost weapons," Holtzmann yells, obliterating the ghost with a carefully aimed blast.

"Holtz! My arm!" Erin yells back at her, panicking at the amount of red dripping onto the carpet.

"Oh, right. _Oh, my god_. That's bad. Abby!" Holtzmann yells, grabbing Erin's other arm to hold her upright. "Put it above your head."

Too woozy to do anything else, Erin obeys. _Shit_.

Holtzmann sits her down on a conveniently placed step-stool and dials 911, crouching down to keep an eye on her. Erin feels like all the blood has drained from her head and is dripping out of her right arm. The flow is steady but not pulsing, which Abby declares _not life-threatening_ when she finally makes her way over, after knocking aside a platoon of ghosts.

"Having your right hand out of action is a real bummer for the team, though," Abby says worriedly, checking her pupils.

"Looks like it hurts like a bitch, too," Patty adds.

"Ya think?" Erin groans, trying to wipe blood off her face with her other hand, which Holtzmann has gone back to holding and squeezing every few seconds.

"Also puts _my _plans for the evening on hold indefinitely," Holtzmann grins cheekily, catching Erin's eye.

"Holtzmann!" Abby and Patty scold her at the same time, and Erin laughs through her tears. Seems like whatever got Holtz's goat this morning has let it go again. 

The three women turn their heads to the white vehicle with the red cross pulling up outside at the same time and Erin groans, thinking about walking with her woozy head.

Abby helps her up, holding her elbow lightly to guide her. "'m okay," she mumbles in response, even though she knows no one will believe her.

_Famous last fucking words, Erin._

As Abby lets go to unlock the front door, a wave of dizziness washes over her and she tries to grab for the door to steady herself. Abby opens the front door just as she pitches forward, and the last thing she feels is a head-splitting _clunk_ as her forehead connects with the metal door handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally found the characters for this one and smashed out like 8000 words in two days, which is impressive and also concerning given that I have a very long essay due next week and also two exams to study for.
> 
> Also I'm sorry to the anon whose comment I accidentally reported as spam when I dropped my phone - I still appreciate it!


	3. Missing You

Holtzmann's been avoiding Erin's eyes… and face… and body… since everything happened.

_Erin likes girls and she still doesn't like you. _It hurts, physically, an ache deep in her abdomen, whenever she thinks about it.

They've barely spoken, barely touched, haven't been bust partners, and Erin moved back to her desk downstairs rather than the cleared-off corner of Holtzmann's workspace that she settled into on their second day at the firehouse.

It's been torture. Holtzmann could _just about_ keep her feelings at arm's length when she could cuddle Erin and remind herself that she would be losing _all of this_, her family, her best friend, the opportunity to do crazy science, if she ever admitted her crush.

But now she's looking right into Erin's eyes; they're expressive, Bambi eyes, and Erin can look right into her and make her whole body stop still for a moment.

She never stopped to think that maybe _Erin_ misses her as much as she misses Erin.

God, Holtzmann misses her. She misses laughing together about nothing.

Crazy dances.

Popcorn fights.

Splitting pizza slices because Holtzmann likes the crust and Erin hates it.

The way they bounce ideas back and forth faster than Abby can swivel her head.

She can't stop staring into her eyes. They're so _big._ Intense. Dark. It feels like they're the only two planets in the universe, orbiting until they collide. And they can't collide tonight, and maybe not ever.

So she does what she always does when she's on the precipice of _something_ with Erin.

Jokes.

Deflects.

_Flirts_.

And Erin's just agreed to share the room with her, so why not?

She rolls onto the floor with a loud _thunk_, kneeling on one knee, holding an imaginary ring-box open. "Will you, Erin Gilbert, pretend to be my wife so we can stay in this fancy-schmancy room?"

The yawning moment that stretches between them is what Holtz imagines a real proposal feels like. Her heart beats in her fingernails.

When Erin laughs out a "Yes, I do, I do, I do," grabbing for Holtz's hands as she begins to topple over, she can breathe again. She pulls Erin down onto the floor too, and they lie side by side, giggling, hands loosely entwined. Every time Holtzmann looks in Erin's direction, she's overcome by giggles again.

This is what it used to be like.

Erin and Holtz.

_Together_.

_Why did you have to go and fuck it up?_

More than anything, she wishes she could go back and do over the moment she ran.

Instead of thinking about that, though, she crawls to the table to refill her champagne glass.

_We're so drunk. _Sip.

_This is a bad decision_. Gulp.

_There's no going back if you kiss her. _

Scull for that one, Holtz.

_And you _will_ kiss her if you have to stay in this insanely romantic room for a week. _

There's nothing left in the glass, and everything feels too big for her body, and when she turns to look at Erin, Erin is staring right back at her.

"Hey, slow down. Everything will be fine," she says, reaching out a hand for the champagne bottle and taking it.

"Every-thing-will-be-fine," Holtzmann enunciates in agreement.

Erin lifts the bottle to her lips and drinks, a long sip. When she lowers the bottle, her lips are glistening and Holtzmann wants nothing more than to close the distance and kiss her. Erase the past month, erase everything she's done wrong, erase the walls they've constructed.

But she doesn't. Instead, she tilts forward until her head meets the carpet and she lies with her cheek against the scratchy grain and lets tears run into the floor until Erin's full glass is fuzzy at the edges and if she squints, she can pretend they are still _best-friends-and-maybe-something-more-one-day_.

***

"Hey, Er." Holtzmann edges from the ugly paisley hospital chair to Erin's bedside as her eyes flutter open. It's been four hours since they let her back here. She hasn't even gone to the bathroom.

"Hi," Erin whispers.

"Here." Holtzmann passes her the half-melted glass of ice chips she's been holding for the last hour. Erin sips gratefully.

"What are you doing here?" she says, less hoarse this time.

Holtzmann shuffles her feet and looks away. She doesn't know if Erin will like her gift, but she knows she's got some making up to do.

She behaved like a crazy person when Erin came out and she can't explain it. The words are never far from bubbling over the back of her throat: _I like you. I think I love you. I could only deal with it when I knew you would never like me_.

She's not real keen to get into all _that_ over a hospital bed. Maybe, with some tequila, she _could_ be convinced, but definitely not tonight.

"I just… came to give you this. And make sure you were okay." Realising that she's been mute for almost a full minute, Holtzmann pulls her gift from her pocket and lays it on the table in front of Erin. She tries to steady her shaking hands.

Erin automatically motions to pick it up with her right arm, but it yanks at the bandages and she whimpers and uses her left hand instead. She's too clumsy to undo the drawstring, and she frowns.

Holtzmann reaches over and opens it for her, tilting the contents into her hand.

She squeezes her eyes closed for a half-second, praying it's okay. She can't bear not knowing though, so she opens up again.

Erin swings it gently. The light glints off every little imperfection, flickering over Erin's face and hospital gown. It's so stupid.

_Just a pendant._ Just a pendant and chain that Holtz stayed up all night making a few weeks ago. She was too embarrassed to give it to Erin in case it finally gave away her feelings.

"I just thought… I was a bit weird about… _everything_… and you deserve a present for coming out. It was brave. And… I-love-you," she gabbles out. "You're my best friend." She fumbles her words desperately and she just wants to go home and pretend she never said anything.

"Oh, Holtz. Thank you. I love you too." Erin's lip trembles.

And then she starts crying. And not just tearing up or sniffling or whatever else people do when they're grateful for a good present. She full-on _bawls_, nose going an alarming shade of red, tears splashing onto her hospital gown, making see-through patches on the flimsy fabric.

_Oh no. _

_I fucked up._

"Shit, I'm sorry…" Holtzmann freezes.

Erin continues to sob, covering her face with her left hand and gesturing something with her bandaged right arm.

What should she _do_? Probably hug Erin. Probably try and comfort her. Probably _anything_ would be better than what she does.

She runs.

All the way to the stairs, too panicked to wait for the lift. She sprints out the entrance and flags the first cab she sees. That one drives away, but a second one pulls up behind her. As she gabbles out her address, she realises she must look and sound like a psychiatric ward escapee.

But the cab driver just nods and pulls away and she collapses, forehead knocking against the window to the beat of _Holtzmann, you're an idiot._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realised that these are ridiculously short updates, so I'm sorry about that (: (: (:


	4. Cold

There's a horrific pain in Holtz's head. And also her shoulder. And also her everywhere. And she's _icy _cold.

She groans and rolls over, grasping for her blanket, and whacks something person-shaped with her hand. She rubs her eyes, reaching blindly for her yellow glasses. When she can focus again, she sees Erin's prone body stirring on the floor beside her.

"Holtz," Erin groans, sitting up in a panic. "What did we do? Oh, my head." She clutches her forehead, looking like she's trying to hold her brains in place.

"Well," Holtzmann says. "I _think_ – and please, god, correct me if I'm wrong – we agreed to pretend to be married for this whole, entire, eleven-day vacation."

"Yeah," Erin says. "That's what I thought."

"As much as I think this warrants an in-depth discussion, I think my nipples are actually going to fall off from cold," Holtzmann says. The aircon is whirring at full blast and it is_ freezing_.

_Jesus, Holtzmann, how do you get yourself into these situations?_

Somehow, she has ended up sharing a room with Erin on this lesbian-only cruise, that she booked for the express purpose of _getting over _Erin by_ getting under _someone else.

Now they're stuck in one room, one _bed_ for the whole trip, and, come to think of it, they're going to have to pretend to be married whenever they venture outside the suite.

_You just can't win._

Holtzmann fumbles around on the bedside table, finding her phone and the remote for the aircon. She jacks the aircon up to the "sun" icon from the "snowflake" icon – whatever the fuck _that_ means – and then climbs into the bed next to Erin, careful not to touch her.

She closes her eyes.

"Holtzmann! We're… oh my god. Fuck. We are stuck on this _fucking _ship for eleven days and we have to pretend to be fucking married. Oh my god. Oh my _god_. Shit. Fuck. Shit."

Holtz has never heard her cuss that much. In fact, it's entirely possible that she's never heard Erin say "fuck" _ever_.

Erin starts to hyperventilate, sticking her head under the pillow, chest heaving.

_Uh oh_. She's never been good in a crisis. _Not everyone gets a do-over like this. Sack up, Jillian Holtzmann, _she tells herself firmly.

"Erin. It's okay. What can I do?" She doesn't know whether touching Erin will calm her down or freak her out more.

_Fuck it._ She lays a hand over Erin's wrist and when she isn't immediately slapped, grips it. "Erin, come out," she says softly. _Great word choice, Holtz. Real smooth._

Erin turns her head so Holtzmann can see her cheeks all squished up and her nose all red and blotchy. "What are we gonna do?" she sobs. "This trip was meant to be-" She buries her face back in the pillow.

"Hey, hey, hey." Holtzmann pulls the pillow away and grabs Erin's face in her hands. She has a vague memory of someone telling her that slow breathing _calms the_ _parasympathetic nervous system_. Or something like that. "Look at me, count with me. Breathe in, two, three, breathe out, two, three, in, two, three, out, two, three," she says, huffing her own breath to demonstrate.

Erin calms a tad, scrubbing at her face with her hands.

"We don't have to do this," Holtzmann says firmly. As much as she was sort of relishing the idea that she and Erin would have to hash out their problems over the coming week, she doesn't want to irreparably damage their friendship. If they even have one anymore. "I'm sure the concierge will be able to sort something out. I won't be offended if you want to split up and get our own rooms. This is a really weird situation."

"I just… I need to be alone for a minute," Erin replies, rolling away from Holtzmann and pulling the covers up around her ears.

_Um, okay?_ Holtzmann frowns in confusion. "I'm going to go… somewhere… for an hour, okay?" She has no idea what else is on the ship, or even what the time is, but _if not now, when? _

She picks up her phone and key-card and closes the door behind her without looking back.

***

Erin hasn't talked to Holtzmann at all since the hospital. Barely looked at her, even. They've been at work together for three tortuous days and she hasn't been in a room with Erin for a single one of the whole 72 hours.

On Thursday, she arrives at work with a large duffel bag. Holtzmann immediately looks at Abby instead of anywhere near her.

"Presents for Holtz?" Abby asks, raising an eyebrow.

Holtzmann flushes hot and sneaks a look at Erin, who's also bright red. "I… actually have a date tonight," she says. It's not an explanation, until Holtzmann realises that normal people don't wear their work clothes on dates.

She drops her spoon in her full bowl of Cheerios. _Erin _has a _date_. It clatters and a single Cheerio bounces across the laminate table.

At Abby's glare, she mutters a "sorry" and begins shovelling cereal into her mouth at an alarming rate.

"With…?" Patty says, looking up from her newspaper and coffee.

"Charlie," Erin grins.

"And Charlie is…?" Abby says, giving Patty the sort of look that even Holtzmann can parse: _shit just got real_.

"An engineer." Erin inserts a coffee pod into the machine backwards, barely noticing as steam begins to shoot out the top.

Holtzmann's Cheerios dribble off her spoon onto the table as her hand shakes. Her eyes water as Patty kicks her knee under the table. Holtzmann glares back at her.

_Cut it out_, Patty mouths.

"What _gender_?" Abby says pointedly, eyeing Holtzmann with yet another _cut that shit out_ look.

"Woman," Erin says proudly, picking up the salt canister.

Holtzmann drops her spoon in her bowl again. It sinks below the milk line with a _plink_. Both Abby and Patty are glaring at her; Patty kicks her again.

"Ow," she hisses.

As Erin looks enquiringly in her direction, Holtzmann drops her eyes to her bowl and sticks her whole fist into the milk to try and fish out the spoon.

Erin turns away, nearly knocking her head on the cabinet. She has a spoonful of salt hovering over her coffee cup.

"Don't do that," Abby and Patty say together. Abby takes the spoon from Erin's hand. "Sugar's here."

Patty hands Holtzmann a dishcloth to wipe her hand, kicking her for the third time

Erin nods dreamily at Abby.

"Gotta… nuclear… stuff," Holtzmann mutters to Patty, abruptly leaving the room, a trail of milk dribbles behind her. She feels like crying.

But she's not going to do that, because _Holtzmann doesn't cry_.

She's going to channel her anger into something productive. Like… testing whether ectoplasm is flammable.

She puts on her safety goggles and lights the Bunsen, holding a beaker under the tap of her barrel of ectoplasm. But her goggles are fogging up from _not_ crying, so she turns off the gas and crawls under her bench, melancholically dipping her finger in and out of the slime and watching it drip.

What she wants is for Erin to ask if she's okay.

What she wants is to talk to Erin and apologise for the hospital.

What she wants is for Erin to come rushing up the stairs and say, _it's always been you, Holtz_. _I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I just bombed an exam last night so please leave a nice comment to cheer me up 🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃
> 
> Also, I'm struggling for ideas for embarrassing couples' activities for them, so let me know what you think they should get up to.


	5. Screwed

_Sweet Jesus, Erin Gilbert, what have you _done?

She sits up, feels around for the complimentary bottle of water, and chugs half of it in one go, spilling some down her front. Everything is painful and she is _sure _she didn't get this hungover last time they went out drinking and _that _time she had four shots of tequila and took her shirt off in a bar. On top of the bar, in fact.

She was trying to impress Holtzmann, but she already had her tongue down the young, hot bartender's throat, so it failed miserably.

Even more so when Abby yelled, _nice sports bra, Erin_.

Erin shakes her head to rid herself of one more embarrassing memory about Holtzmann and chugs the other half of the water bottle. Her head hurts and her heart hurts and she's not really sure what she should do now. On the one hand, she can't think of anyone she'd rather be with on this cruise than her best friend and crush, Jillian Holtzmann. On the other hand, when she hasn't spoken to her best friend and crush, Jillian Holtzmann, in nearly a month, the situation is pretty fucking awkward.

She just needs to line up her thoughts and reason it out. She's good at that. She's a logical person.

Her first thoughts are a litany on the topic of _Erin, why do you always get yourself into these situations?_

And, yes, she's unlucky, and, yes, she has anxiety, and, yes, those two factors have brought her into many awkward situations before, but somehow this is a bit too much of a coincidence. How very convenient that Holtzmann, who has undeniably been in puppy-dog love with her since… well, since _forever_, just happens to be staying in the same suite. And the _honeymoon suite_, no less.

Yeah, this wasn't an accident.

So whose brilliant idea was it?

Erin's head is too fuzzy for all this. She gets out of bed, grateful that the room is starting to defrost a little around the edges, and digs a notebook and pen out of her bag.

There are only three real candidates. Well, maybe four.

_Holtzmann_, she writes. Then she slashes a line down the middle and writes, _For _on one side, and _Against _on the other.

  1. _Has a crush on me. _

Maybe not anymore. But she definitely has before.

But she was so confused when she saw Erin earlier.

And it doesn't really seem Holtzmann's style. Holtzmann is nothing if not careful to respect people's boundaries, when she knows them.

And things have been _so_ weird between them since she came out that Erin has a hard time believing that even _Holtzmann_ would want to voluntarily be trapped in a room with her on a boat for eleven days.

Under _Against_, she adds:

  1. _Respects my boundaries._
  2. _Stuff has been weird since I came out._

The next obvious candidates are _Patty and/or Abby. _

They would definitely _love_ to see this play out.

But she also has a hard time believing that they would spend _this much money_ just to make Holtzmann and Erin talk again, when they could just lock them on the second floor of the firehouse, or something a _little_ less drastic.

And this is kind of the perfect situation for two people to fall in love. Like a trashy romantic comedy.

And, Patty and Abby would be desperate for updates, so therefore, would want to be present. Unlikely.

Under _For_, she writes _They would find this funny_. Under _Against_, she puts _Expensive _and _They're voyeurs_.

And lastly… _Kevin?_

This seems like the most unlikely option of all, but Kevin has done some fairly stupid things in his life. It's not inconceivable that he might have somehow accidentally communicated that Erin and Holtz were… married?

Maybe not.

She doesn't even bother with the for/against columns for Kevin, instead just writing _dumb as a box of rocks_.

The real question she has to address is, _does she want to stay with Holtzmann for eleven days? _

She's surprised, but she thinks that the answer might be _yes_. She misses her best friend and she really wants to get to the bottom of what's been going on between them. Not to mention the inconvenience of having to sort out the situation and get a new roommate and so on.

And she'd be lying to herself if she tried to tell herself that she didn't think that this might finally make her confess her love for Holtzmann.

Which is both terrifying and completely exhilarating.

She gets out of bed, ready to shower and sort herself out. As she's digging out some clean clothes, there's a knock on the door. Presumably Holtzmann doesn't want to take a turn seeing her naked.

She waits for Holtzmann to enter, but there's a second knock.

Confused, she goes to open the door. It's an Olivia staff member. Ridiculously, her first thought is _we've been sprung_. She takes a deep breath to control herself.

"Mrs. Holtzmann?"

Erin restrains herself from rolling her eyes. "It's actually Dr. Gilbert. My… uh, wife, is Dr. Holtzmann."

"My apologies." God, Erin's never heard anyone say that actually out loud. "You missed the honeymooner's dinner last night and we just wanted to check in and see that everything was okay. Please do let us know if we can do anything to improve your stay."

Erin blinks. Then blinks again. _What am I doing_?

"Um… my wife was just feeling unwell. She's okay now, though. Thanks for checking in."

She's about to shut the door but the staff member hands her an itinerary packet. "One of our staff members wanted to send a special message not to miss the Newly-Weds Game tonight."

Erin is speechless. _Newly-Weds Game?_

But she just nods and then the woman mercifully leaves and Erin can shut the door and collapse on the floor.

She's spiralling back into thoughts of _there goes my relaxing week in Europe_ and _now we can't back out_ and _I fucked up I fucked up I fucked up_.

She's hyperventilating and spinning out and she pinches her inner arm and manages to suck in a deep, slow breath.

_Get a Xanax, Erin_, she tells herself.

She fumbles through her bags and finds the little bottle, shaking one out. She stares at it for a moment, then roots through the minifridge, producing a tiny bottle of vodka. She empties it into a glass and washes the Xanax down with a few hefty gulps of vodka.

She lies back down on the floor, craving the solidity. She tries to control her breathing until it kicks in. _In, out, in, out, in, out_.

***

God, Erin can't wait to get out of here. Charlie's a dick.

She's barely let Erin get a word in edgewise. She talks non-stop about her job – designing retaining walls, nowhere as interesting as Holtzmann – and has asked Erin exactly three questions: "What do you want to drink?", "What do you do for work?", and "How far away is your place?"

Erin fudged on the last one, saying that she was having renovations done at the moment, so that she wouldn't have to take Charlie home and pretend to enjoy sex like she's pretending to enjoy their date. She's drunk at least a bottle of wine over the course of the evening, trying to drown out the intrusive thoughts at the edge of her mind.

Because they're all about Holtz.

She didn't realise until she saw the woman exactly how much she was expecting her to be a carbon copy of Holtzmann. The short blonde hair, the engineering job, her funny Tinder bio. But she's not. She's self-centred and kind of unattractive and most of all, she's not Holtzmann. And Erin doesn't know what it says about her that all throughout the dinner, all she can think about is the kicked-puppy look on Holtz's face this morning.

Finally, the bill comes, and Erin slaps down notes faster than she can count them. She's out the door and in a cab before Charlie can ask her to come home with her or even ask for a second date.

It's already eleven, and she just wants to go home, but there's an accident and they can't get through, and they're not really that far from the firehouse, so she just tells the cabbie to drop her off there. She could've just gotten out and walked, but it's cold, and she wants to tell Holtzmann all about her terrible date and apologize to her for being a dick. She's just drunk enough that maybe _something_ will happen.


	6. Strung out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops.

When it's been an hour by Holtz's phone, she returns to the honeymoon suite. It's only around three in the afternoon, after all that. She knocks perfunctorily in case Erin's naked.

Not that she wouldn't enjoy that. But it seems a bit like adding insult to injury.

"Co-ome i-in," Erin singsongs.

Holtzmann opens the door cautiously, non-plussed by the almost… flirty way Erin is talking. 

She's spread-eagled on the floor and Holtzmann's first thought is that she's passed out, but of course that doesn't make sense. Erin flutters her deep brown eyes open and meets Holtz's confused gaze. Holtzmann relaxes.

"Are you okay?" she says, kneeling beside Erin.

Erin nods slowly, a smile spreading over her face, waving her hand lazily.

"Why are you on the floor?"

Erin is a far cry from the strung-out woman she left here an hour ago. She's not sure what to do.

Did Erin sneak weed onto an international trip?

_Surely_ not.

"Feels good," Erin says placidly.

Holtzmann sits back on her heels and looks around, trying to piece together what happened. Erin's diary is face-down on the floor; a variety of papers with the Olivia branding are scattered about.

Finally, a glass of water and a bottle of Xanax.

That explains the relaxed woman prone on the carpet instead of the nail-biting one Holtz saw before. She's seen Erin take Xanax before when she's been stressed out and panicking, but she usually just goes back to normal Erin, not… this. She's never seen her like this. She's acting like she's high.

"Jesus, Erin, how many did you take?" Holtz says, grabbing the bottle and scanning the label.

Erin just giggles more.

Then, remembering the minibar, Holtz picks up the glass and sniffs. Vodka.

_Jesus_.

She wants to get some water into Erin. She's not a big fan of mixing medication and alcohol, and she doesn't fuck around with people that she cares about, but she doesn't want the drama of calling out the onboard doctor, so she's going to DIY this one.

"Okay, Er-bear," she says firmly. "Come on." She pulls Erin off the floor, meeting no resistance. She perches her on the bed. "Tell me what you've been up to while I was gone," she says as she empties the vodka down the sink and fills the glass with water.

Erin smiles. "Do you think Kevin set us up with this sweet gig?"

It's not an answer, but she'll take it. "No. I think Abby and Patty are having a fat laugh right now."

Erin nods seriously. "But remember when Kevin thought we were together?"

Holtzmann laughs at Erin's frowning face. "Yeah, I do." She hands Erin the glass of water and watches as she sips. Erin makes a happy little smile as she drinks the water, and Holtz stifles a giggle as she looks down at the floor.

"What's all this?" She picks up the papers scattered across the floor.

"We're signed up for all the couple's activities," Erin explains. "Because we're a _married couple_, get it?"

She's making an endearing round "O" face. Holtz boops Erin's nose gently, then begins reading the itinerary out loud to keep her concentrating. "The Newly-Weds game?"

Erin giggles back. "Some staff member came to tell me. I freaked the fuck out," she explains. "Hence the Xanax."

"And the _vodka_?"

"I was _really_ freaking out."

"Hot yoga? Paint and sip? Jesus. Ooh, Würzberg? I'm excited about that!" She keeps up a steady stream of patter to keep Erin interested until she notices the time written next to the Newly-Weds game. "Erin, we have to go! The Newly-Weds game is about to start." She's mostly joking.

It would be supremely unethical to let Erin out of the room in her impaired state. Especially since she'd have to pretend that Erin was her _wife_…

Holtzmann shuts that little fantasy down right in its romantic tracks.

Erin stands up rapidly, actually swaying as she does so. "Yes!"

Holtzmann blinks. Then blinks again. "What?"

"Come on! Let's go!"

_Oops. _

"Or…" She struggles to think of something more interesting to Erin than the Newly-Weds Game. Sober Erin would think _literally anything_ was better than the Newly-Weds Game, so Holtz is kind of coming up blank. "We could, um, stay in bed and… uh… watch Netflix?"

Erin shakes her head like Clifford the fucking Big Red Dog. "No way! I wanna go."

"You… want to go… to the Newly-Weds Game… with me? After you had a panic attack about… going to the Newly-Weds Game… with me?"

Honestly, Holtz is just saying stuff. She has _no idea_ how to deal with this situation. This situation that she _got herself into. Smooth, Holtzmann. Real smooth._

"Come on!" Erin flings a shawl around her shoulders dramatically and grabs Holtzmann's hand, pulling her off the bed, tugging her to the door.

Holtz catches her breath at the warmth of Erin's fingers between hers. She closes her eyes to try and stay steady.

And as Erin spins around and tries to open the door, and fails, she stumbles backwards, and Holtz is pulled along with her until Erin's back clunks against the door, and Holtz is nose-to-nose with her giggling face.

Abby and Patty would be laughing her heads off if they could see this, she thinks grimly. _I've actually pinned Erin against the door like I'm a walking cliché. _

As Erin presses her forehead against Holtz's, Holtzmann pulls away gently. "I don't know if this is such a good idea."

Erin puts a hand on Holtz's face, stroking her cheek. Holtz closes her eyes, feeling every part of her body betray her at the touch. The immediate tingling in her stomach – and further down – chips away at her resolve. 

And she knows it's bad, and unethical, and she's being all kinds of a bad friend right now, but when she opens the door, actually managing it this time, Holtz doesn't really try to stop her. She pulls back a little, protests a little, but as she does, she's feeling her pockets for their room key and her phone. They're both there, so she lets the door fall closed and follows Erin towards the elevator.

Erin grins loosely at she does a little spin in the hallway. She puts her arm around Holtz's shoulders, leaning into her, and it just makes Holtz's heartbeat louder in her ears. She hesitates for a moment, then puts her arm around Erin's waist to hold her up.

In the elevator, Erin hugs her close, and Holtzmann closes her eyes, inhaling the very Erin scent of her hair. When Erin presses a kiss to her ear, her eyes fly open and she jolts away.

"Er…" she whispers.

Erin just smiles and goes back to leaning against Holtz's shoulder, arm across her shoulders. Holtz tries to control her breathing, tensing every muscle in her body to distract herself from the some-kind-of-way that Erin's warm body on her is making her feel.

And that's how they enter the games room – arms around each other, Holtzmann stiff as a board, Erin draped over her arm, ten minutes late.

Erin pushes the door too hard and it flies open and bangs on the wall so hard that a picture of a beach falls down. Everyone turns to stare.

And there, at the small podium, with a pink microphone and a fake smile, is Jennifer Lynch.

***

Holtzmann swigs back another mouthful of whiskey. It's nearly 11pm, and she's been waiting for Erin for almost six hours.

At about 9 pm, she sort of knew this wasn't a situation where she needed to wait up, that Erin had probably gone home with Charlie-the-engineer, so she made her way down the stairs and cracked open a beer. By 10, she knew she needed something harder and started in on the whiskey.

She answers a few fan emails politely yet distantly, then she does something she's never done before.

She googles, "How to get over a breakup."

Everything is disgustingly heterosexual, not to mention aimed at teenagers. She pours herself another measure of whiskey, even though it tastes disgusting and her stomach is already churning unpleasantly.

She amends her search to, "How to get over a lesbian breakup."

What she actually needs is a WikiHow for "how to get over a crush on your co-worker (who just came out as bisexual)" but, somehow, she thinks that's probably not top of their popular content list.

She reads an article on lesbian breakups and skips every recommendation, which mainly amounts to "fuck other women." She does a stupid Buzzfeed quiz, which declares her "a Bobby Bounce-back," which honestly, is a great porn name, but doesn't constitute meaningful advice. As she sculls back another glass of whiskey, no ice, even, this time, she spots it.

"Olivia. Lesbian travel, lesbian cruises."

It's an ad, and she thinks it might be fate, that the universe has heard her screaming for a way to get over Erin and away from New York. _Or maybe just targeted advertising_, her cynical brain adds.

Time to get over Erin by getting under someone else.

She pounds back two more whiskeys and books the next available cruise without even checking the balance in her account. And then she passes out on the couch, clutching the empty whiskey bottle to her chest.


End file.
